


Quest

by katbear



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, Missing in Action
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 23:49:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5184356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katbear/pseuds/katbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A search for one who was lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quest

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the beta reader who made this a better story (Deb Walsh). All mistakes are my own.  
> Star Wars post ROTJ (Episode VI).  
> First published in the ConStrict zine of July 2015. Thanks to Sian for all her support.

The well-traveled scout ship hung in orbit as her pilot surveyed the planet below. The sphere itself seemed quite average, with humanoid standard inhabitants, several large cities, one tiny spaceport – only the location at the outer edge of the Outer Rim was at all unusual. A hodge podge of rumors, old clues, and a dying woman's words had led him here. He gently nudged his ship down to the surface, landed, and set out on foot to continue the search.

For three days, the seeker followed a tenuous wisp of feeling through the Force, so faint that he had to occasionally stop and concentrate to convince himself it was not a product of his imagination and his weariness of the search.

Far from the spaceport, the thread grew stronger in a small city barely large enough to warrant the title. That tendril eventually led him to a dance hall in the entertainment sector. Aside from the ubiquitous alcohol and stimulant sales, the establishment offered nightly dances, dancing instruction and paid partners of the young and old varieties. They taught dances that had been out of style in yesterday's Republic for thirty years, and were rarely seen at all today. Still, they were popular out here where fads from the center of the galaxy could easily require decades to take root, assuming they even made it this far.

The anonymous hunter took a seat along a wall and observed, trying to find the source of the tickle at the back of his head.

Finally, one man at the end of a row of seats where the “genteel male companions” were gathered caught his attention. He was old, or so his white hair and wrinkles would indicate. Underneath his short white beard, scars were visible if you looked hard enough. His clothes were shabby but clean, and he seemed practically blind when he took off the thick round spectacles he wore. First and even second glances passed him by, and most patrons dismissed his age and seeming diffidence. Still the tickle persisted.

For three nights the seeker watched, sitting in his hooded cloak in the dimness of a back corner, slowly nursing a single drink. He noticed that several older women, and even a few men, who seemed to be regulars for the dances sought out the insignificant man. A little taller than average, he always offered a shy smile and unfailing courtesy despite what surely must be a tediously boring routine. He was surprisingly graceful on the dance floor, moving lightly, holding his partners securely, effortlessly covering for any flaws his partner might have, and always blaming himself for any mistakes in the dance with a self-deprecating bow and curve of his lips. The seeker was intrigued by this mystery man whose eyes turned to dark sadness each night when he left the building.

On the third night, the seeker waited until it was almost closing time, and intercepted the dancer just as he was returning a patron to her table. He nudged the man toward a small booth at the back of the hall and they sat down.

"How may I help you, gentle sir?"

"You don't know me, but I think you are someone I have been looking for." The seeker leaned close and put a hand lightly on the dancer's forearm. "I have heard that one might turn on a lightsaber ten thousand times, but yet only have one interesting story to tell about using it. Tell me, master Jedi, what is your story?" 

The old man froze, then his shoulders slumped. He whispered, with resignation and almost relief, "So it ends here then?" He made no attempt to deny the title that had been laid on him. He closed his eyes as he drew a very slow, deep breath, releasing it noiselessly through parted lips.

The seeker did not release his hold but waited in silence.

Finally the dancer opened his eyes. "Do what you must, but can it be somewhere else? It may seem rather pathetic to you, but I do have friends here. My room is just a few blocks away. You have my word I won't try to escape." He gave a short, bitter laugh. "It's not as if I have anything left to escape to."

The seeker took his hand away, stood up, and gestured for his captive to lead the way. The old man gathered his threadbare jacket, nodding to a few other people as they left.

The room in a back alley boarding house was tiny and poorly furnished, essentially just a bed, chair, and small table. The seeker sat on the chair. "Tell me your story. Please. I would like to ensure that you are actually the person I've been looking for."

The old man seemed a little surprised at the “please” but perched on the edge of the bed, took a deep breath, and began speaking. "Since you are here, I suspect you already know who I am and my story, but at this point, there's no reason not to tell you. In a way, I suppose, it will be a relief to stop hiding." He halted for a minute as if to gather his thoughts before continuing. 

"Yes, I am a Jedi. Master Shor V'ton is my name. Or I should say, it was my name before I became Hol Parek, and that was the last of many labels. I was raised in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant in the days of the Republic. But the wars came, and initiates became padawans, and padawans became knights ever earlier to fill our depleted ranks as the Jedi were spread thinner and thinner trying to defend the Republic. I was one such, knighted before my time, but I did my best. I even took a padawan, Lomanee. She was only eleven, young and eager and so beautiful in the Force."

V'ton stopped, his expression distant. He shivered and took several deep breaths as memories seemed to overcome him.

The seeker watched silently, schooling his expression to neutrality. Any remaining doubts about the object of his quest began to dissipate. He felt an increasing connection through the Force as long-held shields faltered, and the old man's emotions came to the front.

"You want my story, do you?" V'ton finally continued. "It's not unlike so many others. I had been fighting for several years, often with clone units, and had become friends with several, or so I thought. I respected their abilities and always tried to treat them as individuals. It was on the planet Filve that it happened – the turning. My padawan and I were walking from our quarters when a squad of clones cut us off and began firing. Despite our surprise, we held them off and escaped. We tried for the spaceport, but it was full of clone troopers, so we skulked in back alleys and sewers, with nothing more than the clothes on our backs, and what we had in our supply belts. For days, we hid until we managed to sneak onto a smuggler's ship, making it to planet Narg. There was a price on our heads and a Force-sensitive bounty hunter led a troop of clones to our hiding place." V'ton's hands clenched, his knuckles white. 

"We fought… Force, how we fought, with a blind savage desperation, and had almost won free when another troop arrived. They separated us… there were too many for Lomanee, and they cut her down, with blasters from every direction. The last things I remember were seeing them walking on her body to get to me, and her voice over our bond, telling me to run, even as I felt her life bleed away. So I ran. I ran from that awful place, I hid and ran and hid and ran. Sometimes with help, more often not, burrowing deep and forsaking my identity as a Jedi. I never did understand what happened, and why the clones turned on us, only that it meant death to be a Jedi." V'ton carefully unclenched his hands as if they pained him. His breath was ragged as he stared at the seeker. "Lomanee was just a child, an innocent child who wanted only to do good, when they murdered her."

The seeker let a little sympathy soften his expression.

"When the Empire took over, my only thought was survival." V'ton shook his head. "I couldn't contact any other Jedi, and I felt abandoned by the Force. But for some reason I couldn't just give up. Perhaps it was the memories of Lomanee at first – that last sight of her haunted my dreams for many years. Perhaps I went a little mad for a while. I suspect I did some unpleasant things to try to stay alive, but my memory of that time is a little hazy. In any event, I did eventually reconnect with the Force as I worked my way further and further out of the Empire's reach. I have been here for many years, doing what I could to make a living of some sort." His dark eyes were bleak. "Until now."

V'Ton stood up. "I suppose you'll want this as proof so you can collect the bounty, although I had hoped that perhaps the Empire had finally stopped searching for useless relics like me. Don't worry, it hasn't worked in years." The old man moved the bed, pulled up a floorboard and took out a leather wrapped cylinder. "I couldn't bring myself to leave it behind. Vanity? Or a last reminder of what the galaxy and I used to be? I don't know." He unwrapped the object to reveal a badly dented lightsaber. He squared his shoulders as he sat on the bed holding it next to his heart and looked directly at the seeker. "Are you going to kill me now?" His eyes were distant but the telling of his story seemed to have purged any fears or misgivings he might still have felt.

"No, Master V'ton. My name is Master Luke Skywalker. The remnants of our people have created a new Jedi order and value all of our members, new and old." Luke finally smiled as he raised his cloak to reveal a lightsaber of his own. "I am here to take you home."

finis


End file.
